


Excerpt from an Interview with Clint Barton

by grandilloquism



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Gen, Interviews, Natasha Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandilloquism/pseuds/grandilloquism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint shares how he met Kate, his concerns with dog food, and Black Widow's disgusting candy habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excerpt from an Interview with Clint Barton

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of MCU 616 mash-up, maybe with more to come if i'm not too lazy to write it.

[excerpt from an interview with Clint Barton]

 

“I was buying dog food, actually,” he remarks, when asked how he met Katherine Bishop, aged 22 and co-owner of the Hawkeye moniker. “Over in Tony’s part of town—”

“This would be Anthony Stark?” I interject.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, waving a casual hand while keeping deft hold of the coffee cup it contains. “So I’m in this aisle and there’s like, more dog food than can be believed, and none of it’s anything I’ve ever heard of, y’know? Half of the shit’s refrigerated, I swear. And I’m just having this sort of existential thing? About dog food, and if, like, I’m an awful pet owner or something ‘cause I’ve never thought about my dog’s crude fat intake or whatever…” He stalls for a second, his face scrunched like the latter might still be something he gives thought to.

“My dog eats anything I eat,” I share.

“Right?” he crows, spreading his arms wide. “Fucking burgers or pizza and shit.”

“French fries,” I add.

He salutes me with his coffee— a high honor, I’m given to understand.

“Anyway— so there I am, reading the back of this, I kid you not, like log of dog food, big as my arm, and Kate comes up behind me and this was, eh, three-ish years ago? She was still in school, is the point, so she’s kitted up in the whole prep school costume— knee socks and a blazer and those shoes? The black and white ones?”

“Saddle shoes,” I supply.

“Right, those. But she’s got this real determined look and she just parks herself in front of me and straight up tells me, ‘You’re Clint Barton’, not even a question. And it’s not like I can deny it, right? I’m wearing that jacket Jan made me, right? The black and purple one?”

I indicate to him that I know of the jacket he speaks— a limited edition run of six, designed by Janet Van Dyne.

“Yeah, so, I mean, at that point it was still new and everything, getting recognized by people, so I’m thinking y’know, wait until I tell Nat I got asked for an autograph— she’s gonna laugh her ass off." 

Something in my expression must give away that my initial reaction to this occurrence— Natasha Romanov even cracking a smile— is extremely dubious.

He leans forward suddenly, his expression very grave. “I’m going to tell you something,” he says, almost whispering. “And I need you to promise that you are going to tell everyone, ever, okay?”

“I can do that,” I say, solemn.

He grins broadly and leans back, “Natasha is the most normal person I know, swear to god. Like, we spent last weekend marathoning Lord of the Rings. Fucking all of it, I am not even lying. We didn’t shower, we ate nothing but grease and sugar, we painted our toenails, it was great.”

I refrain from taking the obvious bait. “I’m sure America would consider it a great service if you could tell us what the Black Widow’s favorite candy is.”

He barks a laugh. “Junior Mints. And Peanut M&M’s. In a bowl, together. Minty peanuts, it’s terrible.” He takes a long drink from his coffee. “Anyway— I was telling you about Kate.”

“Buying dog food in Manhattan,” I agree.

“Right,” he grins. “So, y’know, I’m still holding this giant sausage log of dog food, right? And she’s just staring at me, waiting for me to get my act together and act like a person who knows how to say things. So she— her eyebrows,” he interrupts himself, “they do this thing? Like a judging thing?— so they’re doing that thing and she’s got her hand on her hip and so then I realize, hey— that’s a bow she’s got in a shoulder sling. So I put the dog food down, finally, and, y’know, trying to collect the shreds of my very serious Avengers dignity, I’m just like, ‘You any good with that, kid?’

“And she smirked and was like, ‘Better than you, old man,’ and that’s how I met Kate Bishop.”

“Is she?”

“Huh?”

“Is she better than you?”

He makes a weighing motion with his hands, his head tilted to the side. “Some days,” he finally admits. He scrubs a hand over his face, “Not that I’m ever going to hear the end of it, now”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also grandilloquism on tumbr


End file.
